


Lights || Negan

by Lucifers_Left_Lung



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Drama, F/M, Holidays, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 04:52:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9368774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucifers_Left_Lung/pseuds/Lucifers_Left_Lung
Summary: ▸ in which negan has a vision of his dead wife and many regrets ◂[one shot]©2017//Lucifers-Left-Lung





	

**Author's Note:**

> Some things are changed from the comics to accommodate the story.

Negan wasn't particularly fond of the holidays. Even before the world went to Hell, he'd never really cared too much for Christmas or Thanksgiving. Lucille had been the one who enjoyed them. She went all-out every year, decorating the house from top to bottom, cooking huge dinners, inviting all of their family and friends. Negan had put on a face and helped her, pretended to be as into it as Lucille was. Of course, she knew how Negan really felt about the holidays and often had tried to convince him to just let her do it on her own. But Negan had always refused, choosing instead to make his wife happy. It was the least he could do, after all.

He was a prick back then, too, always cheating and going behind Lucille's back. She never knew and that was one of the many things he often regretted, especially when the holidays rolled around. Not only had he treated her like shit, but he'd never had the balls to admit it to her face. She had died thinking Negan was a great man, when he had really only been a worthless excuse of a man and husband.

Lucille had died after a long battle with cancer, during which time Negan had stepped out on her more times than he cared to admit, leaving Negan to an empty and silent house. He tended to try to stay out of the house as much as possible, but on those rare occasions when he had nowhere else to go and nothing else to do and was forced to be home alone, Negan turned the volume on the television up loud, trying in vain to drown out the deafening silence his wife had left for him.

Of course, none of this was Lucille's fault. She had been brilliant and beautiful, not deserving of the kind of man she'd been married to. Negan had somehow caught the best woman he'd ever met and she'd been unknowingly stuck with a piece of shit for a husband.

To say that Negan was happy when the world finally ended would be a dramatic understatement. Since there were no longer any rules and the dead were now walking with the few living that were left, that meant Negan could do whatever he wanted. He could make a new life for himself, be a new man. This new man wouldn't be someone Lucille would be proud of, but he would find a way to pay homage to the only woman he had ever loved, even if it wasn't exactly traditional.

And that was exactly what he had done. It had taken years to finally get where Negan was now, with a group of his own, a new home. People either looked up to him or feared him, and that was how it should be if he were going to continue surviving. The one picture of Lucille had left was creased and faded; he often took it out when he was alone, apologizing for all that he had done to her and for the man he had allowed himself to become.

He frequently wondered how different things would be in this new world if Lucille hadn't been taken by cancer, if the two of them were facing this together. Would Negan be this horrid man he was now? Would Lucille have left him, eventually, to survive on her own? Or would he be a completely different person, living as happily as he could, with his wife?

These, of course, were questions Negan would never have the answers to. So he tried to keep himself occupied, just as he had done in that silent house years ago, so as not to think about Lucille and all those wasted possibilities.

But as Christmas approached and Thanksgiving faded away without a second thought, Negan found himself unable to stay distracted anymore. No matter what he did, how many people he killed or punished, he found himself laying awake at night. Negan hadn't ever been one to care about other people, aside from a select few. That was just how he'd been born. But for some reason, as he lay in his bed in his new home, surrounded by people he didn't give a shit about, all he could think about was Lucille and what she would think of who he had become and how he had hurt her and she didn't eve know.

The room was chilly, the windows just beginning to frost as snow silently fell on the other side. The first snow of the season, even though Christmas was just around the corner. Lucille would be forcing Negan out of bed to go outside, even though it was freezing. They would stand there, both of them in their pajamas and without shoes, his arm around her, staring up at the night sky. It was a sort of tradition they had.

Negan swallowed and stood abruptly, leaving his room. Standing outside like this felt almost the same. The scenery was different and he wasn't in his pajamas, but it was like he could feel Lucille with him more than ever.

"I forgive you, you know," he heard a familiar voice say. Negan pursed his lips, but didn't turn. He'd seen his dead wife once before, but that had been years ago, just after it had happened. And he'd been drunk. Now, he was stone cold sober, which somehow made things worse.

After a minute, Negan couldn't take it anymore. He turned and saw Lucille standing about a foot away. She looked like she had before the cancer, long dark hair and shining brown eyes. There was color in her face and a smile playing on her lips. Negan's vision began to blur and he realized his eyes were full of tears. It was the first time he'd cried in...he wasn't sure how long. Probably since Lucille had died.

"No, you don't," Negan finally said. "How could you?"

Lucille stepped closer and all Negan wanted then was to reach out and touch her. He wasn't sure if he would be able to. This was just a hallucination, right? It was all in his head. Negan shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out to his dead wife and looked down at his feet. With a humorless chuckle, Negan said, "You thought I was a bastard before, you should see me now."

When Lucille placed her hand on his arm, Negan nearly flinched away. This couldn't be happening, it couldn't be real. He had to be dreaming. Or maybe he was finally losing his shit. Maybe he'd finally cracked.

"You're not a bastard, Negan," Lucille said, holding Negan's arm as she turned her head up to the sky, eyes closed. "You're simply a man."

"I'm sorry, Luci." Negan sighed and glanced at Lucille, who was now staring back him. It was even worse that she already looked as if she truly did forgive him. And he didn't deserve it. Even if this was just some scene made up in his twisted mind, even if he was going crazy, he didn't deserve Lucille's forgiveness. "All these years, I thought about what I coulda said to you to make you forgive me, but I know I don't deserve it. You were the one thing in my life I could have done right, but I fucked that up. Along with everything else. And that's the one thing I regret. That I couldn't stop thinkin' about myself long enough to actually give a shit about you."

Negan stopped, waiting for Lucille to say something, but she was silent. Her head on his shoulder, she didn't speak, so he went on. He figured that if nothing else came of this fucked up dream, at least he would be able to say the things he'd never said before.

"You know I fucked around on you? Even when you were sick. Of course, I stopped when you were first diagnosed, tried to tell myself that shit would get better, that maybe this was some kind of sign that I needed to pull my head outta my ass and be a better husband. I thought―" Negan laughed once "―I thought that if I treated you better, you'd actually _get_ better. But then you got worse and I just...I fuckin' gave up." Negan looked down at Lucille, her brown eyes meeting his through dark lashes. "I gave up on you before you were even gone. And now―And now I use your death as an excuse to do whatever I want. If you, the most amazing and deserving woman I've ever known, couldn't live, then why the fuck should anyone else?"

"You have to let it go, baby," Lucille said softly. "I forgive you. Now you have to forgive yourself. Move on."

Negan wished it were that simple. But what was he even supposed to do if he _did_ move on―if he _did_ forgive himself? He'd made a name, created an image for himself, and if he suddenly became someone else, he knew what would happen to him. Someone would get brave and they'd kill him. And then everything he had done would be for nothing. All the bad shit he had done, all the death and the blood on his hands, it would be meaningless.

"I love you," Negan said. "Always did, even when I didn't show it."

"I know."

"But I can't let it go. I can't move on. I don't deserve to."

Lucille looked up at him, confused. "Negan―"

Negan smiled. "As much as I wish it was, this ain't real, sweetie. You're not real. You're gone. And I have to live with all the shit I did to you. That's my burden, my cross to bear. You, you get to move on and get the hell outta this world." Negan kissed Lucille on the head. "So go."

Lucille was crying, but nodded. Negan felt her presence disappear and when he looked, she was gone. With a heavy breath, Negan fell to his knees in the snow. He dug his nails into the cold ground and choked on a sob. Tomorrow, he would have to go back to being to the man he'd become. But tonight...tonight he would mourn Lucille and the man he could have been.

Because what was Christmas for, if not for making wishes?


End file.
